Perspective
by Writer's Block Inc
Summary: He wasn't Stan Marsh and they weren't his ragtag band of misfits; he was just Craig Tucker and they were just Those Guys. A series of events in which everyone realizes Craig's Gang is more than just a group. It's a family. Friendship fic for Team Craig.


**A/N: **So, I got really into South Park recently, and there are a lot of ideas floating around, but this was the only one I could really get into writing (sort of). This fandom is chock full of romance-centric stories, so I thought I'd try a hand at a friendship fic instead.

There's a total of seven chapters, a different character's point of view for each. It's a little more Craig-centric than I originally planned for it to be, but whatever. Craig's awesome anyhow.

* * *

"Aw, c'mon Bebe!"

"Sorry, Clyde, but no means no." It was the third time this week he'd tried to coerce me on a date with him and, although I found it kind of cute the way he pouted about it, he wasn't getting any positive answers soon. It wasn't that I _didn't_ like him, it was just kind of the way things worked around here. As fucked up as South Park is half the time (I won't even lie to you, it's usually Stan-and-friends' faults), there are just a couple of things that don't happen. Bebe Stevens going on a date with Clyde Donovan is one of those things.

"But _Bebe_, this is the _third_ time you've said no! I don't _have_ another ten bucks to give Craig!" Now _there_ was something new. As funny as I thought it was for Clyde to bet on the same thing repeatedly—especially something that had failed him every single previous time—he was on a whole new level of retarded for betting against his best friend (who, I might add, probably didn't give a flying fuck that he was extorting money off of his friend's stupidity).

Right now, that little group of friends of his were chatting it up a couple lockers down—a safe distance from failure, I noted—and would look up from time to time to check on Clyde's progress. It was a little unnerving, actually, to know that every minute or so, there were three pairs of eyes watching me. Especially when one of those onlookers was Craig Tucker.

Craig Tucker. He's a real enigma, this one. You could ask just about anybody in school and they wouldn't know the first thing about him besides the fact that he's tall (he's 6'4", I mean, who even gets that tall in a hick town like this?) and has the emotional capacity of a wall. His face has this permanent frown that looks more like a line and his eyes always have this really disinterested, distant look to them, like he always has something better to do than be graced with your (or anybody's, really) presence.

It's a real shame, though, because that boy is _fine._

Seriously, I'm not even interested in him (I'd probably put him high on the "would fuck" list, but since I'm second only to Kenny when it comes to getting around, I guess that doesn't count for much) and I'll admit it. From the sheer intensity of his gaze—his eyes are a grayish-blue, but I haven't really been close enough to get a good look—to the untouchable aura he seems to ooze, everything about him screams "bad boy." His facial features are ruggedly handsome, a stark contrast to Stan Marsh's softer, more baby-ish face. People used to say they looked alike, but they're completely opposite when it comes to what makes them attractive. Oh, and trust me, I haven't even _begun_ with their bodies.

It was the summer before our junior year. Token threw a pool party at his house on the rare occasion that South Park hadn't frozen hell over—literally—and invited practically everyone in our year. Pool parties usually meant one thing to the rest of us: free-for-all ogle-fest. Since everyone gets half naked, it makes you officially less creepy when you decide to stare at someone else, and that's exactly what everyone ends up doing. With people like Stan (he's quarterback on the football team) and Kenny (manslut) running around, it gets a little screamy sometimes, but nothing I hadn't seen before. Then Craig comes out in these blue and yellow swimming trunks hanging low on his hips and _Jesus Christ_.

Before that moment, he'd never so much as removed his jacket in public, let alone showed up half naked to anything. I couldn't even count the number of people trying to remove his trunks with their eyes because I was busy trying to do the same. See, Stan has these kind of bulky muscles from all of his football conditioning and Kenny has that faint definition from doing maybe-crunches every now and then, but Craig has something of a fighter's body. His chest isn't prominent in the way where they look like moobs, his abs curve with his tall and lanky frame, and his V-lines are some of the most defined I've seen. There's no imbalance from bulk on his arms because they're fit enough to show serious definition, but aren't grotesquely large and intimidating. In a word, he was _hot_. Anyone that was at that party will agree.

On another note, it's a little ironic that the most antisocial person in all of South Park is actually kind of popular. Not that he knows (or cares, I suppose).

"Bebe?"

Then there're the people he hangs out with. The only black kid in the entire town, the paranoid coffee addict, and the most sensitive jock on the team. Token's actually a pretty popular guy himself, but he knows it. He's kinda tall, too, about 6'1", and is still the richest kid in school. Wendy's not dating him anymore (they tried again back in sophomore year, but it didn't work out), but they still collaborate a lot for club work and schoolwork, so I hear about that stuff from her. He's calm, compassionate, an overall nice guy, to be completely honest. Totally smart, too. I can actually see where he and Craig would be friends, but it's really difficult for me to grasp Tucker having the capacity to have friends in the first place.

"Helloo? You in there?"

Tweek's a little trickier. He's about 5'10" with wild conspiracies and tall tales that are ten times his height. In my opinion, I think he's cute, but I think almost everyone is in some way, so I guess that's out. He twitches a lot (we're absolutely sure it's just the overdose of caffeine and not some kind of ADHD like his parents say) so sometimes you feel like he's winking at you, but in reality, he's just having an eye spasm. The magnitude of his paranoia makes him easily startled, and when you really get him going, he gets into these really long-winded imaginings that usually involve the government. After the fight he had with Craig in the third grade, I still wonder about their friendship.

"Earth to Bebe!"

Finally, Clyde "the Crybaby" Donovan. I don't even know where to begin with him. Six feet even, wide receiver on the team, wears his heart on his sleeve and loves tacos like they're his children. That he eats. I can't even begin to talk about how strange it is that he's best friends with the most emotionally retarded person this side of Colorado. Toss in a rich black guy and a kid who looks like he's on crack and you get the weirdest combination of friends in South Park. Even Stan and his friends make sense with the exception of Eric Cartman. I still wonder why they're friends with him.

"_Bebe!_"

"Clyde, I don't know what to tell you. No is no. I think you're cute and all—" And right here he shoves this adorable little lopsided smile in my face and asks "really?" like he's expecting a taco feast,"—but status quo requires that I don't date you. Not even at the cost of your allowance." He visibly deflates before me, and I almost feel bad, but anything I can do that keeps order in this mountain town I'll do. Then, it's as if he's just had a brain blast because a devious grin takes the place of his pouting.

"Okay, then how about we just have like, a friendly outing? You can just tell people it isn't a date or anything," he suggests, that twinkle of hope in his eye trying to persuade my still-present skepticism. "C'mon, I'll even get you some shoes. _Please?_" And there it is, the patented "pretty please with a fucking cherry-flavored taco on top" face. The one I can't possibly deny because it just tugs at my heartstrings like a fucking soap opera.

"…Alright. Just a friendly outing," I find myself sighing. On regular occasions, Bebe Stevens plus Clyde Donovan equals big fat no-no, but when you throw shoes in the mix, she can make the exception. There are, however, certain ground rules that come with the exception, and I give him my best stern face to keep him from getting too excited. "That means you aren't allowed to try anything, okay? No discreet handholding, no kisses—not even on the cheek—and we don't share any food or drinks unless absolutely necessary. Understand?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Thanks a lot, Bebe! I'll meet you afterschool, 'kay?" He runs back over to his little groupies, all of whom are waiting to hear about his most recent escapades with Bebe Stevens. I can't hear anything he's saying, but by the wild gestures and the surprised reactions, I'd say it turned out differently than they expected. I can't help my eyes gravitating towards the tallest boy in school, who's standing there as usual with the same blank face he always has. Clyde sticks his tongue out at the stoic and receives exactly what anyone would expect: a middle finger to the face.

* * *

I'd be lying if I said I didn't spend the whole day thinking about the mystery that is Craig Tucker. You know how sometimes, things just come to your mind that you wonder about and you can't help but come back to those thoughts no matter what? Yeah, that's what I'm going through right now. Seeing Clyde wave at me from the front steps to the building only makes it worse. I know opposites attract and all, but it seems really extreme in this case.

"Hey there, Bebe! Ready to go?"

"Where're we going?"

"I thought we'd stop by Tweek's family's coffee shop for a little bit, then maybe go to Stark's Pond for a walk or something." The idea didn't sound bad to me at all, and it made me glad that today was Friday, which meant I didn't need to worry too much about homework until later.

"That sounds great Clyde, but are you sure you aren't making this into a date?" Okay, so maybe I was a bit suspicious of his intentions still. Sue me.

"Nothing like that, really! It's just that, you know, we don't hang out a whole lot anymore. Not that we really did before, but we haven't talked about, well, anything in forever. You know what I'm saying?" And if that wasn't just the cutest look on his face, all abashed and shy. "Besides, the look on my friends' faces when I told them I actually got you to say yes!"

"Yeah, I saw from my locker. I think Mr. Middle Finger was glad to see you, don't you?"

"Aw, Craigy-poo's just sore he won't be getting that ten dollars from me." I stifled a giggle at the confident smirk now adorning his face. He likes to act confident, but I think everyone already knows he's just a big kid on the inside anyway.

"Craigy-poo?"

"Yeah, but sometimes it's Craigster or just Craigy. He always flips me off when I call him that, but I _know_ he loves it."

"How can you really tell? He always looks like he printed a facial expression off the internet and stapled it to his face."

"It's just something I feel, you know?" I chance a glance over at his profile and see that his chocolate brown eyes have softened into this kind of faraway look, staring straight ahead but seeing past the snow-covered streets and perfectly average, if not weirdly colored, buildings. In fact, I _did_ know what he was talking about. Wendy and I had been friends since preschool, and there were times when, like Clyde said, I just _knew_ something about her that wasn't right in front of my face, like some kind of best friend intuition. I'd never really seen the brunette next to me look so serious, so I was glad when he continued talking. "So how's Wendy?"

"She's incredibly busy, as usual," I reply, unable to help rolling my eyes. I think it's great that Wendy's such an activist and wants a bright future, don't get me wrong, but sometimes it wouldn't hurt for her to take a little time out of her schedule so we can just go shopping together or something. I can't even _remember_ the last time we went anywhere together. "Otherwise, she's fine. Stan's treating her right and she's not too stressed out by everything she does. I couldn't really ask for anything else."

"I think Token would agree with you," he laughs, and all the earlier seriousness just evaporates into the crisp air. "He's always worried that Wendy's getting herself into some masuh…mastuhki—"

"Masochistic?"

"Yeah, mastochismic cycle where she keeps going back to Marsh just to keep getting hurt." I don't even bother correcting him on the word, a little shocked (but not surprised) by the fact that Token still watches out for Wendy. By now, we'd made it to the quaint little coffee shop where the town's weirdest family practically lived. A lot of weird shit goes down in South Park, but they _still_ consider the Tweak's to be the oddest group of people to live here. There's no logic to question, so just don't.

"Does he still have feelings for her?" Clyde calls loudly to Tweek in a greeting and, as expected, the blonde lets out a loud "gah" before smiling shyly and waving at us. I'm led to one of the nearby booths after the coffee addict quickly writes down our orders and leaves us to ourselves. It was one of the things I envied about Tweek: he was never nosy. I'm pretty sure it was because he was afraid of what he might find if he dug too deep, but another part of me wanted to say that it was Stan's and his friends' faults for dragging him on their little adventures when they were children. They always found themselves nose deep in the strangest situations, intentional or not.

"He always tells us he's just looking out for her since she was his first girlfriend, but the three of us think he's just saying that because Wendy's been hooked on Marsh." He stops, looking around as if he'll find people eavesdropping on us despite the fact that we're the only ones in the shop, and leans in to whisper to me, "Honestly, I think Token's better for her. He probably—no, he _does_—care more about her than Marsh ever seems to."

"You're just saying that because you're one of his best friends," I tell him back at regular volume, and he just falls back into his seat and grins.

"Yeah, but really. Token deserves to be happy with all the things he does for people." I couldn't argue that one.

"You're right. I'm a little surprised that Craig would be in-tune to this, though. You and Tweek, I can understand, but Tucker?" I laugh a little, but Clyde's giving me this odd look that I'm not sure about, so it comes out a little nervously.

"Aw, nobody ever gives him enough credit. But tell me," he starts, sending me a curious glance, "why're you so interested in Craig? You've brought him up a couple times today." Had I? I didn't think I had.

"Have I?"

"Well, more than usual. Which is like, not at all. Wait, don't tell me," he frowns, his eyebrows creasing together and a tiny bit of hurt reaching his eyes, "that you're only hanging out with me so you could get to Craig? If that's the case, then—"

"No! It's nothing like that, alright? I'm not trying to hook up with Craig." Even though he _is_ totally hot and nobody would object to getting some of that. "Look, you brought him up earlier and it just kind of got the ball rolling in my head, you know? I mean, he's probably the most apathetic, uncaring person I've ever seen, yet he has three best friends that don't seem to hate his guts like Cartman's friends do. It's just a little baffling." I thought the frown on Clyde's face would fall, but it didn't, which meant something I'd said was still upsetting him.

"He's not an uncaring asshole, you know. Well, okay, maybe he _is_ an asshole sometimes—or all the time—but he's far from uncaring." It was the first time the brunette sounded so clearly offended by something that wasn't even about him. "He wouldn't be my very best friend if he didn't give two shits about anything."

"So you're telling me Craig motherfucking Tucker actually gives a damn about things? Am I dreaming?" I tried to say that as lightly and not-bitchy as I could so I wouldn't upset him any further. It seemed to work, since he gave me a small smile at my joke. He fingered the cup in his hands—Tweek had delivered our drinks some time back in our conversation—and I felt like he was debating in his mind about what to say.

"Bebe, don't tell anybody I told you this, but Craig's kind of a huge softie." I almost laughed out loud, I really did, but thought better of it because this was something I _really_ wanted to hear.

"What do you mean?" I urged when it looked like he wasn't planning on continuing. He fiddled around with his cup some more before beginning again.

"See, Craig's something of a giant teddy bear. He's…comforting. I know it's really hard to believe, but trust me, I'm his best friend. I know this. He hates it when people cry. It's, um, part of the reason we're so close," he tapers off, and I know he's really uncomfortable admitting his own crybaby tendencies since he doesn't want to come off as weak to other people. "It's not just me, either. Like, if our group was a taco, he'd be the shell. He holds us together and keeps us close." He must've been deceived by the look on my face because he quickly adds, "Wow, um, that sounded really gay, huh? I just…"

"It's fine, Clyde. I know what you're saying, it's just really shocking to hear that. He always seems so passive about everything, so to know that he's weak to other people is…really ironic, actually." I get a small chuckle out of him, one I'm glad for because I don't think he can take anymore embarrassment.

"He picks up on that stuff a lot. People's feelings, I mean. Whenever something's off about any of us, he notices right away." There's a fond smile spreading on his lips now, his fingers aimlessly scratching at the Styrofoam cup. "When Token feels really stressed from all the stuff he does, Craig lets him vent, even if he ends up being a punching bag. He doesn't care that sometimes, when I'm really down in the dumps, I like to cuddle and steal his jacket and get food stains on it. And if Tweek's not doing so hot or he's extra shaky and under pressure, Craig gives him his chullo so he can grip and pull at and soothes him until he calms down. Even at three in the morning." It's like he doesn't realize I'm there anymore as he says this, lost in his own thoughts.

"I never thought he'd be so...," I trail off lamely, unsure of the right word to use.

"Kindhearted? Sympathetic? Caring?"

"Yeah, pretty much." As long as I've known, Clyde, Token, and Craig had been a pretty close group. Tweek joined them after Kenny came back from who-knows-where during the fourth grade, but since they didn't get into crazy stunts or lead the class in some fantastical plan, nobody thought much of their little posse like they did Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Eric. This conversation was shedding some light on the general workings of "Craig's Gang."

"Everyone always just writes him off as that kid who flips people off and gets in trouble, but he's a lot more than that. He has feelings, too—like, really deep down—and when you've been friends with him for as long as we have, they're a lot easier to see. I guess that's something I should be glad for, huh? I have the privilege of being a Tucker Reader." He lets out a booming laugh at his own little jest, startling Tweek from behind the counter, and I feel like, despite my desire to hear more about Tucker's hidden side, it's time to change the subject.

"So, how's school for you? You were never really good at academics, if I recall." He slumps forward and moans disdainfully, clutching his head like he had a migraine.

"Oh god, if it weren't for Token, I'd probably never graduate. Don't even get me started on what coach would say." We fall back into a lighter atmosphere of joking and teasing soon enough, giggling and snickering at each other's shortcomings. I'd never enjoyed any of my other dates as much as this little outing, which kind of scared me a bit, but I remembered everything we'd talked about—namely Craig—and knew that first thing tomorrow, there was one person I'd be relaying this unbelievable information to.

Wendy.

* * *

**A/N: **So, the next chapter is, surprise surprise, Wendy. Also, this ended up leaning towards Clybe a lot more than I thought it would, so for anyone interested, I added a little extra below this author's note. The next chapter is going to take a long while because this one took forever and I still don't like how it turned out.

* * *

"It's been really fun hanging out with you today, Clyde. We should do it again sometime." I wasn't trying to get his hopes up or anything, but to tell the honest truth, I really did have fun.

"If I have to vouch with _those_ kinds of shoes again, I'll have to say no," he jokes, but I can see that hopeful gleam in his eyes and the question right on the tip of his tongue. He's worried, just as I am, of the status quo. Our relationship is an imbalance here, a break in the laws of high school. I sound like I'm more worried about my reputation, but when things are out of order for South Park, the consequences might be more than I, or anyone, can really handle. If we bit off more than we could chew, it would only end badly, just as many things do when it comes to our mountain town. I think he knows this, too, even for all of his trying.

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay Clyde?" I make to close the door, but at the very last second, he uses his hand to keep me from doing just that, a look of uncertainty on his face. He struggles for a bit to form words, but then sighs.

"Do you think," he pauses, and I'm actually really anxious to know what it is he's trying to ask, "that maybe I could, uh, kiss you good night? Like, I know you said no kissing and stuff, but—"

"Okay," I whisper after pressing my finger on his lips to keep him from babbling anymore. After his pause, something had flickered in his eyes and I had the feeling he'd changed the ending to his question, but that was a bridge I wasn't ready to cross just yet. His eyes widened some before he adopted a childlike glee to his features that made me want to smile along with him.

"Okay," he repeated quietly, but that message flew out of my mind with the wind as he leaned in without hesitation, capturing my lips in a perfectly chaste kiss that left a tingling in my spine and a heat to my cheeks that had nothing to do with the bitingly cold weather so native to this town. Just as quickly as it'd begun, it ended with a breathy "good night" on his part, his cheeks tinted a rosy pink that most likely matched my own face right then. I couldn't do anything but nod before gently clicking the door closed and locking it, not sure of what to make of this whole thing. All I knew was that I couldn't deny how much I enjoyed his presence, his touch, just _him_ in general.

Maybe, I considered, the consequences might actually be worth it.


End file.
